by Sally Odgers
Once inside, she found the guest bedroom, slid into a sleep-T from her overnight case and fell into bed.
She woke to rain, a day as miserable as she felt. Peering from the bedroom window, all she could see was a stand of evergreen trees to the side of the house.
Coffee, she needed coffee. In the kitchen, while the coffee-maker burbled, she stared out a window on the opposite side of the house. No neighbor on that side, either, just a tall stone fence running from the road to the woods somewhere in back, as near as she could tell. The fence hid whatever was behind it, but she'd been here as a child so she ought to know.
While she was drinking the first cup of coffee, she remembered what the fence hid. Great-aunt Lucy's house had a cemetery for a neighbor. Which reminded Jolene of Tremorg and what he was, depressing her all the more.
Was her great-aunt buried right next door? Jolene shook her head. The lawyer who'd called her said Lucy had been interred in the Catholic cemetery next to the church.
Jolene sighed. Here she'd been Lucy's last living relative and hadn't even tried to get here for the funeral. She didn't deserve this legacy. A tear rolled down her cheek.
The doorbell rang. Hastily wiping her eyes, she went to the front door and found a neighbor-down-the-road with a casserole. She was the first of many visits by other villagers, and a lot of food.
Two weeks later, for no good reason except inertia, Jolene still hadn't listed the house for sale. As she packed to go home to Wabush, she realized the people she'd met up here had treated her like one of them, not as a flawed stranger. That didn't mean she wanted to live among them, but it'd been sort of pleasant.
* * * *
Back in her cottage on the alley, she was confronted by what was in her tooth-brushing glass. No matter how she felt about Tre, she had to return it to him. He'd stuck other parts of himself back on, so probably he could do the same with his ding-dong.
She procrastinated for over a week, her erotic dreams at night making her fear she'd be tempted to find out if the thing still worked once he'd reattached it.
Good grief, how could she possibly have anything more to do with a ghoul!
Saturday morning, as she drank her pre-breakfast coffee, she decided this had to be the night. What she'd do was call to him from outside the cemetery. When he came to the maple, she'd toss his ding-dong to him over the fence and then make a dash for home.
About to take another swallow of coffee, her hand went to her stomach. Moments later she hung over the toilet bowl, vomiting. Later, when she felt better, a horrible suspicion shook her. Wasn't her period late? Very late?
What she suspected couldn't be true! It just wasn't possible. The test kit she brought home from the drug store told her different. Damn him. This called for a face-to-face confrontation.
As soon as dusk fell, Jolene set off for Woodland Weir, his ding-dong wrapped in aluminum foil. Over the fence she climbed, then slid to the ground where he was waiting.
"What kept you?” For the first time she heard the rasp of anger in his voice.
"Never mind that,” she snapped. “Do you know what's happened because you didn't wear a condom? I'm pregnant, that's what."
The dark under the maple prevented her from seeing his expression, but as the silence dragged on, she could feel him staring at her.
"Well? What have you got to say about that?"
"It can't be mine!"
She punched him in the chest with her fist. “That's what every guy says when he hears this kind of news. Why did I think a ghoul would be any different?"
"But it can't be mine. Ghouls and humans don't make babies together. We don't even have many births, ghoul with ghoul. Besides I'm missing my tool. I can't find it anywhere."
"Tool? You mean this?” She flung the aluminum packet at him. “You left the damn thing inside me. Which convinced me you really are a ghoul."
After a minute or two, he muttered, “You took long enough to give it back to me. I was inconvenienced."
"You were inconvenienced! What about me? I'm the one who's pregnant."
"Maybe so, but not by me."
"Who told you a ghoul can't impregnate a human?"
"No one. It's common knowledge."
Did he sound the least bit uncertain? “Folklore, maybe? Any ghoul besides you ever try?"
"Most humans can smell."
"Low blow, Tre."
The sound of boots scuffing along the sidewalk just outside the fence shut them both up. He grabbed her hand and pulled her deeper into the cemetery. Since she had a lot more she intended to say to him, she didn't balk.
"Sorry,” he muttered as they got farther from the street. “I didn't mean to insult you."
Taking her hand had been a big mistake. His reattached tool was already stiffening in anticipation. Sex with her beat any he'd ever had with a female of his own kind, and he craved it.
He made for what he thought of as “their” bench. Once they sat side by side, she pulled her hand free, and said, “How in hell am I supposed to know how to raise a half-ghoul baby?"
Primed to continue denying he could be the father, Tremorg swallowed the words. What if he actually was? She was right about the human egg, ghoul sperm incompatibility being folklore. No male ghoul he knew had ever gotten close enough to a human female to even touch her, much less have sex.
"It's hard for me to believe I've fathered your child,” he told her. “But I'm willing to try."
"How magnanimous of you.” Her words dripped sarcasm.
"How about a compromise? I'll agree to be a father to the baby you carry, no matter what."
The waxing moon showed her incredulous stare. “If you don't believe me, why?"
He didn't tell her the whole truth, that he missed the sex so much he was willing to do almost anything to get her back in his arms. “Because I could be.” A part of the truth, and one he knew she wanted to hear.
"Generous of you to admit it."
He longed to hold her, but knew better. “I missed you."
Jolene sighed, touched by the pain in his words. Truth to tell, she'd missed him as well. But what now? How could he be a father to any child, living in this cemetery as he did? And did she really want to be a ghoul's main squeeze?
She looked him over. Green. Naked. And she should have expected it, aroused. Tall. Not handsome, but a lot thinner than he'd been a little over three weeks ago. Dangerous? No. Unless you were dead.
"You've lost weight,” she said, trying to distract herself from his arousal.
"I've gnawed what nourishment there was from the last old bone. There's nothing left to eat."
"You know for sure you can't eat human food?"
He nodded. “Makes me violently ill."
"Ghouls can't live without food, can they?"
"We can live for quite a while, but not forever."
"Can't you move to a newer cemetery in Wabash?"
"Some of the others tried that. The problem wasn't the underground vaults, we can dig through cement. But we can't eat the ashes left from cremation, which is popular. Laws require the dead to be embalmed. We got used to what they used in the old days, but the new stuff gives us severe indigestion. Most of the ghouls became ill and died."
Jolene didn't want to hear all this detail, but she listened because it was obvious he was withering away, and something had to be done.
"Couldn't any of them have gone to another town?"
"Look at me and imagine I want to travel to some far off place. Even at night we can't pass for human. Ghouls who call outside attention to themselves wouldn't last long."
An idea struck her. “Well, then how about if human food like meat was spoiled. You know, rotten.” As she spoke, she tried to avoid a mental picture of corpses rotting away in their coffins.
He shrugged. “Never tried that."
"I can't just watch my baby's father starve to death. I'll bring you some spoiled meat and we'll see what happens."
He reached for her hand and brou
ght it to his lips, turning it to kiss the palm, then licked between her fingers, making jelly of her bones. Heat burned every thought in her mind to ashes. All she was aware of was Tre and how much she wanted him.
One remaining fragment of sanity made her give his erection a gentle tug to see how firmly it was attached, then she succumbed to her own desire.
* * * *
Two months later, on a diet of disgustingly rotten meat, Tre looked healthier than she'd ever seen him. Even his body parts quit dropping off. So she figured it was time to pop the question.
That night, she was the one who led him to their bench. “We have something to discuss,” she announced. “Marriage."
He stared at her. “Ghouls don't marry."
"What do they do?"
"Like we have ... they bond."
"Bonding is fine, but I'm not a ghoul, I'm human. Since I'm having your baby, I want to be married to her father."
"Impossible."
"Why? Because you're naked? You can cover yourself with a long cloak for the short while it'll take for a minister to say the right words. I'll find one who'll marry us here in the cemetery at night so you won't look quite so green. He won't think anything of it—people get married all the time in weird places."
"What I meant by impossible is I'm not going to do it. Isn't it enough I've agreed to be the father? I've even contributed to the child's support by giving you my stash of jewels and other valuables gleaned from those in the ground who no longer need them. You've sold enough already to buy a car."
"I truly appreciate you financial support and it's wonderful to be able to drive everywhere again. But for me, marriage is security. It's important that I know we're legally linked. Which reminds me, you have only one name, so we'll have to make that your family name. We can use G.—for ghoul—as a given name. G. Tremorg."
"You're jumping the gun. We can't marry. You know as well as I we can never live together. Since you're not a fire being, my crypt is too cold for you. And I can live nowhere but in a cemetery."
"What does that matter? You've said yourself that too much togetherness is difficult for you, so I'm resigned to us living apart. But that has nothing to do with getting married.” She paused for effect, before adding the clincher. “The truth is, I'm not sure we ought to continue having unmarried sex."
"Blackmail,” he howled.
* * * *
Two weeks later, covered from head to toe in the long black cloak with a hood she'd bought him, Tremorg stood beside Jolene near their bench.
She wore an ankle length white dress and carried a huge bouquet of white and red carnations. He breathed in their spicy scent, knowing she smelled nothing, but had bought the bouquet in the hope the aroma of the flowers would dilute his ghoul stench. From the pinched faces of the minister and the witness he'd brought, the carnations were not successful.
The Reverend Mr. Lovecraft spoke the necessary words faster and faster, finally coming to end of the marriage ceremony, then both he and the witness rushed for the gate. Tremorg followed close behind to make sure they didn't get lost on the way. Once safely on the sidewalk, the minister locked the gate with trembling fingers. In his haste to pocket the key he'd been given by the cemetery association, so he could get in, he never noticed it fall to the ground.
Watching, Tremorg waited until the two men drove off, then knelt on the inside of the gate. Extending his talons, he reached under it and snagged the key.
When he rejoined his bride, he presented the gate key as a wedding gift, saying, “There'll come a time you won't want to be climbing that maple."
"True. A most practical gift.” As he led her toward the crypt he called his, she sighed. “I imagine this will be the oddest wedding night a bride ever had.” A stray moonbeam illuminated the name carved into the stone over the crypt entrance—Lugosi. “So that's the family interred here.” She couldn't help the nervous quiver in her voice.
Tre wanted to spend their first night of marriage in his quarters, so, to be fair, she'd agreed. After all, he'd granted her wish to be married. But a crypt, stacked with coffins of the dead, was definitely not her idea of the perfect honeymoon suite. Especially when she knew what her husband had done with those bodies.
He reached for a key on the lintel, unlocked and pushed the stone door inward. Creaking, it opened, and he ushered her inside. She was prepared for pitch darkness, so the spurt of flame surprised her. A moment later, Tre set an ornate, though badly tarnished, silver candle holder, complete with lit candle, on the crypt floor near the inflatable mattress and bedding she'd given him days ago to use for their wedding night.
"The holder was left in here before my time, with several unused candles,” he told her. “I've never had need of it until now."
Recalling his insistence he was a fire being, Jolene said, “You lit the candle without matches? Wonderful!” A bit off-putting, but useful.
Though she tried not to examine the surroundings, she couldn't resist a quick glance around. Two rows of coffins, in varying states of repair were stacked one on top of another almost to the ceiling, the exception being one lone coffin set apart from the rest.
Before she could speculate on why, Tre swept her into his arms. “If it's possible for a ghoul to love a human,” he whispered against her lips, “then that's what I feel for you."
Love? All along she'd though of it as lust, so his words disturbed her for the brief moment before his kiss wiped away all else but what was happening between them.
As she came down from the peak she always achieved with Tre, Jolene started in fright when she saw a dark form looming over them. Tall and handsome, the man wore a red-lined black cape that swirled around him. His mesmerizing gaze held hers, and his sinister smile revealed two undeniable fangs. She screamed.
Tre released her and leaped to his feet. “Get lost, vampire."
"Blood,” the creature said, taking a step forward. “I sense her blood. I must taste. I will taste. You can't stop me."
"In your dreams, undead. Leave now or you break our species pact. For many years now, despite my hunger, I've left your body intact, when at any time I could have eaten you as you lay helpless in your coffin. Touch her and I'll feast on you the moment you crawl back inside tomorrow morning."
Jolene, huddled in fear at Tre's feet, held her breath as the vampire's eyes flared blood-red. How could she ever have wished for a vampire lover? Why hadn't she realized if granted, that would be her last wish?
The creature reached a hand toward her and flame spurted at him from talons suddenly extending from Tre's fingers. The vampire leaped back. “Spoilsport,” he muttered.
"Select another. You can't have my wife."
"Wife? Bloody hell, how was I to know?” The vampire turned away and floated out of the crypt.
On trembling legs, she got to her feet. “My hero,” she murmured as she flung her arms around Tre.
* * * *
Some eight months later, Jolene, who'd been timing her uterine contractions the way the books said, knew she needed to get to Woodland Weir soon if she was to make it there at all. After alerting Tre's beeper—her wedding gift to him—she started off, thankful it was already dark.
They had discussed where the baby should be born and decided a hospital or even an in-home birth with a midwife was too risky. Who knew what the baby might look like? No way did Jolene intend to have her child labeled defective or experimented on because she looked different.
So she'd read a raft of books for information, which she shared with Tre until they became convinced they could handle the delivery. Everything they needed was already stored in the crypt.
By the time she unlocked the gate with her key, she was in real distress. All the books said contractions, never coming right out and calling it the pain she felt. Tre, waiting inside, took the key from her, relocked the gate, and helped her make it to the crypt.
Except for the omission of how much accompanying pain there was, everything went pretty much as the books
had outlined.
"It's a ... a...” Tre's voice broke. He cleared his throat and tried again, “A girl. And she—she's green."
"Told you,” Jolene whispered.
Later, after all had been taken care of—Jolene decided not to ask what he intended to do with the placenta—she and their daughter rested comfortably.
"Except for her skin color, she looks more human than ghoul,” Tre remarked.
"I thought we'd call her Moss,” Jolene said. “Moss Tremorg."
* * * *
Moss took eagerly to the breast, removing any worry about what food she could digest. But three months later, after Moss set her crib in the cottage on fire, Jolene came to a decision.
"Tre,” she told him that night in cemetery, as he cuddled the baby to him, “we have to live together, not apart. Moss needs your ghoul expertise as well as my human knowledge."
"You know that's impossible. I can't leave this cemetery."
"Wouldn't next to one qualify?” And she told him about her legacy from Aunt Lucy. “I'm sure you'll be quite comfortable in that old, spooky basement. Why you could even dig a tunnel over to the cemetery next door."
"Whoever heard of a ghoul living in a human house basement?"
She laughed. “So you're a pioneer, G. Tremorg. No one ever said pioneers had it easy."
When he finally agreed, seeing he had little choice, Jolene felt she'd been given a gift. Her lagniappe came a month later when she pulled to the curb at Woodland Weir at dusk to pick up Tre in her new car, packed with Moss and belongings, all set for their trip north.
As he emerged through the gate, tall and impressive in his long hooded black cloak, an SUV screeched to a halt behind Jolene's car. Mags and Aaron jumped out and came up to her window.
"It is you,” Mags cried. “I told Aaron I'd seen you driving around in a green car."
Jolene smiled, her gaze shifting to the approaching Tre. “I happen to be very fond of green. But here's my husband now. Tre, I'd like you to meet Mags and Aaron. You've heard me speak of them."
"Those responsible for our coming together? Of course. I must thank you for sending my wife to Woodland Weir.” At that moment his hood slid off. In the street light by the car, his green skin was obvious.